Speech Lessons
by older woman
Summary: Hiko and Kenshin in the early days. Short oneshot.


**A/N: Watsuki, Sony, Viz, et.al. rule all things Kenshin. I grovel at their feet.**

**If you're not that interested in historic accuracy, skip this!** I had my doubts about 'shishou' being an antiquated word when I wrote this, but left it in for the sake of the story. But my doubts were right. According to my cultural correctness guru (Hi, Mio! waves): "It's the correct honorific to address your master who has trained or is training you in martial arts or a trade connected to it. Alternatively, one might ask who your "Shi" was, to find who you trained with - "Shi" is a teacher, "shou" is the word for elevating/refining a practice. It's a bit archaic these days only because the study of true martial arts has declined. But completely correct for Kenshin to refer to Hiko as Shishou - although if he hasn't started training yet, he would probably refer to him of Hiko-san or Hiko-sama." So, now we all know.

**yabai--used as an expletive, but literally means 'This is bad!'**

**Speech Lessons**

By older woman

He sat at his writing desk, cleaning his brush as he watched the red head down by the water, draping their underwear over the bushes to dry. Kenshin would be done with the laundry soon.

The boy had been with him for almost two months now. The nightmares that had been an almost nightly occurrence **seemed **to have passed. He was not sure, though: there were still mornings when Kenshin looked drawn and tired. As apologetic as he had been each time his cries had wakened his new 'master' in the night_ (You're not a slave, Kenshin. There is no blood, Kenshin. You are safe.), _Hiko suspected that through the force of his own will, the boy had somehow managed to stifle his reactions to the dreams.

He had already seen the strength of that will and the determination behind it. It was one of the reasons that he had felt that this boy was **the one**. For one so small to have chosen to bury so many, and have succeeded with no help was a clear indication that he was an appropriate choice.

But that strength of will_—stubbornness—_had started to manifest itself in less admirable ways, at least to him. He had found that if Kenshin did not see a good reason for something, he would not do it. He would not (usually) be defiant, but would just somehow never remember. Or he would open those light-colored eyes of his wide and say, "But I don't understand…" If he would explain** why** something needed to be done, or appeal to the boy's sense of duty, there was no problem. Otherwise…

Hiko suspected a sly sense of humor there, too. He **knew** that Kenshin could not be nearly so dumb as he sometimes acted.

But the thing that had grown truly irritating, that had to be dealt with **now**…was the way Kenshin talked.

_Good. He's coming back._ He set down the brush and assumed his 'regal air.' As the boy entered the hut and set down the basket, he called him over.

"Kenshin, come over here and sit down." Obediently, he came and settled before the desk. "You need to learn to talk."

Those eyes--grey today—opened wide. "Oro?"

Hiko winced. "Exactly. That's what I mean. I don't know where in Chōshū your village was, but it must have been far away from anywhere else. There are words you use that I have never heard and I am tired of guessing at what you are trying to say."

"Oro?"

"That is one of them. 'Oro?'," he mimicked in a childish voice. "It makes you sound like an idiot. Say 'nani?' or 'ano..' or even 'yabai!" But get rid of the 'oro.'

"Oro?"

Did he detect a gleam in those eyes? He reached out and lightly cuffed Kenshin on the side of his head. "You heard me."

"Why do I have to change the way I talk? I don't understand everything **you** say. Won't we just learn after a while?"

"We will, because we live together. But the people you are introduced to, or will only meet briefly to do business with, won't understand a lot of what you say. Your accent doesn't help. They are not going to have time or inclination to learn your speech. So **you **have to change." Hiko could almost see Kenshin's brain evaluating what he had said… He waited.

Kenshin bowed slightly. "Hai, Shishou. It will be as you say."

One more cuff. "That's another one. Shishou? I think your village must have been lost about one hundred years ago…"

'''''''''''''''''

Over the next few months, with constant reminders—and frequent blows (of varying strengths, depending on Hiko's irritation)—the odd words left Kenshin's speech. As in so much of their relationship, sometimes it was a game, sometimes deadly serious. In the lighter moments, Kenshin would let his head roll with the blow and cross his eyes, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Hiko had been right: it was much easier for him to converse with others (on the rare occasions that he chose to speak).

But he never dropped the "Shishou."


End file.
